


Just As You Are

by inexplicifics



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fix-It, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28393896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexplicifics/pseuds/inexplicifics
Summary: All witchers have another form - an animal which is the shape of their soul. Most witchers spend their winters almost constantly shifted, enjoying the freedom and peace that comes with their second form.Geralt never shifts. But maybe this winter will be different.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 61
Kudos: 1015
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge: Secret Santa (TWFFSS20)





	Just As You Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sparrow30](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrow30/gifts).



> Happy holidays, sparrow!

Unlike every other witcher in the Wolf School - and, he assumes, every other witcher in the _world_ \- Geralt does not use his other shape at all. He doesn’t even like to talk about it.

Eskel got lucky. The shape of his soul - as Geralt could have told anyone who asked, back before the Trials - _is_ a wolf, and his other shape is a great shaggy direwolf, bigger than some bears, with a howl to shake the sky. Old Vesemir’s other shape is a bear, grey about the muzzle but still the terror of any unwary hunter, far faster than such a large creature ought to be. Even Lambert’s other shape, if small, is dangerous: a low-slung creature with impressive fangs and digging claws, which after quite a lot of research old Barmin was finally able to call a honey badger, native to distant Zerrikania and famous for its courage and ferocity.

Geralt’s other shape is not fearsome at all.

It _ought_ to be a wolf, really, as close as he and Eskel have always been. It ought to be a great white wolf, so that he can run alongside his dearer-than-blood brother through the hills around Kaer Morhen, howling down the moon.

It is not.

It is not a fierce form, nor a flying one, nor even a useful one. So Geralt does not speak of it, and does not use it, and does his best to forget he even _has_ another shape, even when the urge to shift and spend a few hours in the blissful peace of an animal form becomes almost overpowering. Most witchers spend a good part of the winter in their other shapes, enjoying the freedom that comes with them, the slight distance from all human cares, but Geralt does not. He stays strictly two-legged, refusing to join Eskel and Lambert as they tussle in the courtyard, or curl up atop Vesemir as the old bear sleeps on the hearth.

Eskel doesn’t hassle him about it, not anymore, and Lambert’s never even _seen_ his other shape - might actually think he doesn’t have one, as ardently as Geralt avoids any mention of it - and old Vesemir just sighs and lets the matter go, and for many years that’s all there is to it.

And then one winter, Geralt brings his bard to Kaer Morhen.

Well, his bard and his daughter and his sorceress, to be exact. His _family_ , if he wants to let Jaskier give their motley little group a name, or at least the half of it that isn’t witchers.

He’s still a little leery around Jaskier and Yennefer, honestly. The mountain still looms large in all their minds. He’s apologized to Jaskier - stumblingly, clumsily, but still, he _did_ apologize - and Jaskier accepted it; and he and Yennefer have come to a truce, agreeing that they may be bound but that doesn’t mean they’ve got to be lovers, and maybe they could try just being allies and possibly even friends. And both Jaskier and Yennefer are much, much better with Ciri than Geralt is, which is a blessing all on its own; Yennefer, of course, is delighted to have a child to dote upon, and Jaskier is astonishingly good at soothing Ciri’s nightmares with his songs. Geralt...Geralt can provide and protect, and for some reason Ciri sleeps better if he’s nearby. He doesn’t quite understand that.

In any case, he brings them all to Kaer Morhen, the safest place he knows, and Vesemir and Eskel and Lambert all give him _extremely_ dubious looks, as well they might really, and make his motley little family welcome.

Geralt has genuinely forgotten to warn Jaskier and Ciri and Yennefer about the shifting. It’s so normal - so much a part of every winter - that he doesn’t even think of it until the first evening that there aren’t really any chores left - not any urgent ones, anyhow - and after supper Lambert says, “Fucking finally!” and takes three steps away from the table and turns into a honey badger.

Ciri squeaks. Yennefer gapes. Jaskier’s eyes light up in wonder.

“Could you not wait three more minutes?” Eskel sighs, wipes up the last bit of sauce with the heel of the loaf of bread and gulps it down, and stands to join the very smug-looking Lambert-badger, shifting between one step and the next into a great shaggy direwolf.

Ciri’s eyes go huge. Yennefer is boggling. Jaskier actually claps his hands in delight.

“Geralt,” he says, as Eskel-wolf and Lambert-badger begin to wrestle, “ _why_ did I not know you could do this? This is marvelous! Is it like one of your Signs, or can it be _learned_ , or -”

Geralt sighs. “It’s a witcher thing,” he says weakly. “Comes with the Trials.”

“Come and say hello, cub,” Vesemir says, beckoning Ciri as he rises, and Ciri bounces out of her seat gleefully.

“How much of their minds do they retain?” Yennefer hisses as Eskel-wolf and Lambert-badger stop wrestling and turn to greet Ciri, snuffling at her hands and ankles respectively.

“It’s...complicated,” Geralt says. He’s never tried to explain it before. “They’ve still got their minds. It’s just...simpler, being shifted. Everything’s clearer.”

Eskel-wolf licks Ciri’s face, making her sputter and giggle, and flops down on his side, and Ciri takes the beautiful opportunity to curl up atop him, nestling into his thick fur with a happy noise. Lambert-badger grumbles a bit at losing his wrestling partner before clambering up Ciri’s skirt into her lap and curling up in a tight ball. Ciri strokes his back gently.

“What _is_ he? I’ve never seen anything like him. Look at those claws!”

Lambert-badger wiggles his ears proudly and lifts his head to yawn, showing off his impressive teeth. Ciri coos compliments.

“He’s a honey badger, from Zerrikania,” Vesemir says, before shifting himself and curling around the entire pile of Eskel-wolf and Lambert-badger and very cozy little girl.

“You’re sure it’s safe?” Yennefer says, though she’s slowly starting to relax.

“They won’t hurt her,” Geralt promises. “Not in either form.”

“Alright,” Yennefer allows, and leans forward, chin on her hand. “Really, this is fascinating, I had no idea…” she trails off, eyes going distant in a way Geralt knows means she’s thinking about the way she can twist chaos to do what she pleases.

“So,” Jaskier says, leaning against Geralt’s shoulder as he hasn’t done in _months_ , eyes wide and scent full of excitement and glee. “What do _you_ turn into, White Wolf?”

Geralt goes stiff. He wants to shrug Jaskier away - wants to stalk out of the hall and run the battlements, or maybe go down and hit a set of pells for a while - but he can’t do that, not when Jaskier is finally acting like _Jaskier_ again, bright and cheerful and enthusiastic, instead of flinching from Geralt’s attention and biting his lip instead of singing.

“I don’t shift,” he says at last.

Jaskier pulls away far enough to stare at him. “You don’t? But it looks like such fun!”

Geralt hums noncommittally. Jaskier frowns at him. “Alright,” he sighs at last. “Keep your secrets. You always do.” He doesn’t seem to notice Geralt’s flinch. “Do you suppose they’ll bite me if I join them?”

“No,” Geralt says. “Eskel likes to be scratched behind the ears.”

“Delightful!” Jaskier says, and goes scrambling off the bench to join the pile of shifted witchers and sleepy child. Eskel lifts his head just long enough to let Jaskier squirm in beside him, then drops his head into Jaskier’s lap, pinning him quite effectively, and gives Jaskier a pleading look. Jaskier laughs, delighted, and begins scratching Eskel-wolf behind his ears enthusiastically. Eskel’s tail wags.

Geralt leaves them to it.

Once the ice has been broken, Eskel and Lambert and Vesemir have no hesitation in taking their other shapes whenever they please. Geralt stumbles across Vesemir-bear with Ciri on his shoulders, lifting her up to retrieve a jar of ancient honey from a shelf too tall for any of them to reach in the normal course of things; Lambert-badger allowing Yennefer to examine him, her fingers very careful on his impressive claws; Eskel-wolf playing fetch with Jaskier, who is laughing fit to burst. The other witchers spend every evening on the hearth in their other shapes, cuddling with a delighted Ciri and Jaskier; even Yennefer deigns to join the pile after a few nights, sitting with her back propped against Vesemir-bear’s bulk and reading through various tomes from the battered old library.

Geralt wants to join them, but he can’t quite bear to. They look so happy, and he wants to faceplant in Eskel-wolf’s soft fur, wants to tumble Lambert-badger over and let him attempt (usually successfully) to savage Geralt’s arm - Geralt has a set of leather gauntlets he saves specifically for that game, in fact - wants to sleep curled in the safety of Vesemir-bear’s warmth.

But if he joins them, Jaskier will want to know why he doesn’t take his own other shape, and Geralt can’t quite bear to see what Jaskier’s reaction would be, if he knew. How much his image of Geralt as some sort of hero - as someone _worthy_ \- would suffer, if he knew that the shape of Geralt’s soul is nothing more than a common housecat the color of bad luck.

It’s near midwinter when the matter finally comes to a head. Everyone else is cuddled up in a great fluffy heap on the hearth, Vesemir-bear fast asleep and Eskel-wolf letting Ciri braid ribbons into his ruff and Lambert-badger playing catch-the-string with Yennefer while Jaskier scratches behind Eskel-wolf’s ears, and Geralt can’t quite bear it anymore. He’s glad his two families get along so well - glad beyond words that his brothers and nearly-father have adopted his daughter and his bard and his sorceress as their own, and vice versa - but he...doesn’t fit. He isn’t really part of it, and he can’t quite bear to sit and watch anymore.

He stands as quietly as he can and pads out of the hall, up to the cold silence of the battlements. The bitter wind and the implacable distance of the stars seem appropriate, somehow.

He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there - long enough that his toes are starting to hurt, and his ears, too - when there’s the soft crunch of a boot on snow, and he turns to see Jaskier standing in the doorway.

“You’re going to freeze solid,” Jaskier says quietly. “We’ll find a witchercicle in the morning. Have to hang you up in the main hall to drip.”

Geralt huffs a tiny laugh despite himself. “I’ll come in before that.”

“Come in now,” Jaskier coaxes. “I don’t like to think of you standing about in the cold while we’re all warm downstairs.”

Geralt flinches, just a little, and this time, Jaskier catches it. He steps out into the chilly wind and puts a hand on Geralt’s arm.

“I don’t know why you don’t shift,” he says quietly. “Eskel and Vesemir won’t tell me, and I don’t think Lambert even knows. But it doesn’t matter. Shifted or not - please, come and join us. I won’t bother you about it.” His lips quirk in a wry little smile. “I’ve about decided it’s because you turn into a fish.”

Geralt barks a laugh. “No. Not a fish.” He looks down at Jaskier’s hand on his arm, and sighs. “It’s - embarrassing. I’m not - it’s not impressive. Or useful.”

He’s silent a moment, and Jaskier steps a little closer. “You don’t have to tell me,” he murmurs. “Really. You can keep your secrets, Geralt.”

Geralt sighs. He _can_ keep his secrets, but - Jaskier deserves better than silence and secrets, from him. And this would be...another apology, of sorts. Something he can give Jaskier, to make up for all the times he’s grumbled and grunted and refused to give him anything at all. And if Jaskier decides he isn’t worth it, once he knows the truth of Geralt’s soul, then...well, that’s only fair, really. Only right.

He steps back, out from under Jaskier’s hand, and takes a deep breath. He hasn’t done this in - longer than Jaskier’s been alive, really. Decades upon decades. But he hasn’t forgotten; it’s not the sort of thing he can forget. He reaches down inside himself and lets the shift come over him.

Jaskier’s jaw drops. “Oh my _gods_.” He goes to his knees in the snow, reaching out towards Geralt. “You’re _adorable_.”

Geralt yowls disgruntlement, but he steps forward, mincing across the snow, and bumps his head against Jaskier’s fingers. Jaskier rubs a gentle finger down the arch of Geralt’s head and then scoops him up into his arms. “Too cold out here for either of us,” he murmurs, and heads inside - not to the main hall, somewhat to Geralt’s astonishment, but to Geralt’s bedroom, where he settles on the bed and puts Geralt down in his lap.

“I would not have guessed this,” Jaskier confesses, running a hand down Geralt’s spine. Geralt considers hopping down and hiding under the bed, before sighing and flopping down across Jaskier’s legs instead. Somewhere deep in his chest, a rusty sort of rumble starts up. Jaskier makes a little squeaking sound.

“Fuck, you _purr_.” His hands are very warm and very gentle and Geralt had forgotten how good this feels. Nobody’s petted him since Eskel, decades ago. “I really wouldn’t have guessed this, but it makes sense, now that I see you.”

Geralt looks up at Jaskier in surprise. How the fuck does this make _sense_?

Jaskier smiles down at him. “You’re a truly fearsome hunter, and cats are, too, you know. But under all your armor and your growling, all your I-need-nothing witchery facade, you’re soft.” His fingers rub gently under Geralt’s chin. “I wonder, would you purr like this if I did this while you were human-shaped, or would you bite me?”

Geralt considers biting him _now_ , just for calling him soft, but he can’t bear to take the expression of utter joy off of Jaskier’s face. Jaskier hasn’t looked at him like that in...a long time. Longer than Geralt likes to think about. So instead he licks one of Jaskier’s fingertips, and then, giving in to his instincts, rubs his cheek against Jaskier’s hand. He has no right to mark Jaskier as his, but he _wants_ to, and if he dares to do so in this small way, well, his brothers won’t say anything. Hopefully.

“Thank you,” Jaskier murmurs. “For showing me this.” He keeps petting Geralt, hands finding a slow and soothing rhythm, and Geralt puts his head down and purrs. There’s a long silence - well, as silent as anything ever is around Jaskier; he’s humming a quiet little tune, something low and soothing and really quite pleasant. And then, very softly, Jaskier says, “You said this form isn’t impressive, or useful.”

Geralt makes a little yowly noise. Jaskier strokes a finger between his ears. “I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a cat jump after a bird,” he muses. “I know they mostly avoid you when you’re human-shaped. But they can leap many times their own body-lengths, and climb what I would have sworn were completely sheer walls, and eel through gaps I would have thought were much too small for them. And they’re _fast_. So - maybe that’s not quite as obviously impressive as wolves or bears or even honey badgers, but cats _are_ fairly impressive, really. And as for useful - well, obviously I don’t expect you to go about catching mice. How _do_ you keep the mice out of this old stone pile, anyhow? Do they just not like the smell of witchers? But in any case - you know Ciri has nightmares. Don’t you think she might enjoy having a nice soft cat to pet, to help her remember she’s safe now?”

Geralt’s...never thought of that, actually.

Jaskier takes a deep breath. “And in any case, Geralt - you don’t have to be impressive, or useful, or fierce. You really don’t. You’re enough, just as you are - whatever shape you’re in.”

That’s...that can’t be true. It _isn’t_ true, by all the evidence of Geralt’s long and unpleasant life. But Jaskier sounds like he means it, and Geralt can’t quite bring himself to shift back and refute it. Not when Jaskier’s hands feel so very good against his fur. Still, he makes a little noise, a sort of hissing growl.

“Shush,” Jaskier murmurs. “I’ll prove it, if you like. I’ll bet you anything you like that if I brought you down to the main hall, no one would give you any shit for your shape - except maybe Lambert, because he’s that sort of ass. But Ciri and Yen won’t think any less of you, and anyone with eyes in their head can tell Eskel will love you regardless of the shape you happen to be wearing. And I can’t imagine Vesemir will say anything rude, either.”

Geralt hides his head against Jaskier’s side. He can’t go down there, not like this - it’s one thing to offer this to _Jaskier_ , who deserves this sort of apology, a secret given in recompense for so many hurts -

But maybe Ciri really would like having a cat to pet, when she’s sad, something softer than Lambert’s bristles or even Eskel’s thick fur. Maybe Yennefer would find it pleasant, too.

Maybe he could be part of the comfortable heap of his family. Maybe, even if Geralt is too large and too awkward and too prickly, there’d be room for a small black cat.

He raises his head and meows.

“I don’t speak cat, darling,” Jaskier says. “Mew once for going down, and twice for staying right here?”

Geralt hesitates for a long, long moment, and then lets out the smallest meow imaginable, so soft he’s not even sure Jaskier can hear it. Jaskier’s eyes go wide, and then he stands, gathering Geralt into his arms and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“You’ll see,” he says softly, while Geralt is still boggling over the kiss.

Eskel-wolf raises his head when Jaskier comes into the main hall with Geralt in his arms, and lets out a soft wuff of astonishment. Ciri looks up, and her eyes go huge; Yennefer twists around to see what’s going on, and her eyebrows rise in shock. Lambert grumbles at Ciri ignoring him, and then peers up at Jaskier and Geralt - honey badgers, they have learned, don’t have the best eyesight - and sneezes in obvious surprise.

“Is that _Geralt?_ ” Ciri asks as Jaskier sits down beside the heap of sleeping Vesemir-bear and Eskel-wolf. Eskel cranes around until he can snuffle at Geralt’s fur, and then sticks out his tongue and tries to lick Geralt. Geralt wriggles out of Jaskier’s arms to dodge - he doesn’t want to be covered in wolf spittle, thanks ever so. Eskel whines plaintively.

Geralt sighs and leans forward to lick Eskel’s nose. Eskel’s tail starts to wag, thumping energetically against the floor. Ciri reaches out tentatively, and Geralt resigns himself to being utterly undignified and licks her fingers, then bumps his head against them.

“You’re so _soft_ ,” she says, and scoops him into her lap, hands gentle and firm and clearly accustomed to handling cats. Geralt grumbles a little. Lambert-badger stands up on his hind legs with his forepaws braced on Ciri’s knee and sniffs curiously at Geralt, then sneezes again and comes scrambling into Ciri’s lap to curl around Geralt until they form a ball of black-and-white fur and bristles. Ciri giggles and strokes both of them, looking and smelling so happy it’s almost dizzying.

“Huh,” Yennefer says, and reaches over to trace a single finger down Geralt’s back. “You’re cute like this, Geralt.”

Geralt can’t muster enough grumpiness to hiss, not when Jaskier has joined Ciri in petting him, and he’s surrounded by the warmth and mingled scents of his family.

He falls asleep quite by accident.

He wakes late in the evening; the fire has burned down to coals, and Ciri is fast asleep atop Eskel. Yennefer has retreated to her own room - she’s far too conscious of her dignity to sleep on the floor - but Jaskier has sprawled out on top of Vesemir-bear and is snoring gently in counterpoint. Geralt wriggles out of Ciri’s embrace and stands up, shifting as he goes.

There are blankets in a chest near the hearth; Geralt pulls two of them out and spreads the first one over Ciri; Lambert-badger is curled up under her chin and snuffling gently in his sleep. Jaskier wakes as Geralt tucks the other blanket over him.

“Told you,” he murmurs. “You’re enough.”

Geralt considers and discards a great many possible responses. Finally he settles on leaning down and brushing the very lightest kiss against Jaskier’s lips. “You did,” he agrees, and shifts.

Jaskier stares down at him as Geralt curls up on his chest. “Turning into a cat to get out of discussing emotions is cheating, you know,” he murmurs, but he strokes a hand over Geralt’s back all the same. “We’re going to talk about this in the morning, my darling.”

Geralt tucks his head under Jaskier’s chin, and purrs.


End file.
